The Journey's Destination
by htdcd
Summary: A look at the journey of the soul...after all, life is not merely a destination, right? Mostly post-DH, but Snape!lives...SS/HP
1. Prologue

Standard disclaimers apply with regards to intellectual property of HP characters, et. al.

AU post-DH, Snape!lives, and will eventually feature SS/HP, but not sure how in depth or slashy it will get.

It's been a while since I've posted anything that is currently under construction, so I'm warning you now that I do not write every day and it may be a while (note: a *while* does not mean never, or even forever, it just means not every day) before it ends. Especially since I'm doing something dangerous: writing a story with no clear plot - just an end goal. Oh, and I'm 6 months pregnant, so who knows what drama will go on there that might prevent me from writing/finishing in a timely fashion. Just sayin' - come in with your eyes wide open. If you've got slash issues, you're searching in the wrong section. Go find some nice het-fic to curl up with.

The Journey's Destination

**Prologue**

A bright white ball of light, perhaps the size of a large orange, approached the podium. The area was flooded with pure, blinding brightness, coming from some unknown source. If one had to pick a color, it would be white. White above, white below, white all around. Only the podium provided any contrast.

"Ah, so good to see you," the being behind the ornate, brass structure greeted the light.

"Likewise," was the reply.

"What would you like to do this time? Wait?"

"Perhaps. How long?" The ball hovered, pulsating slightly with discomfort.

"Maybe twenty years. Give or take," the being gave what amounted to a shrug.

"So long…being apart is…quite uncomfortable." The pulsing grew more noticeable.

A slight chuckle. "Ah, yes. I would imagine that. Do you wish to wait?" The question was repeated, but without impatience.

"Mm, no. I think I might find it preferable to be in a body, waiting there. We'll find each other."

A knowing smile. "You always do. That is kind of the point."

"Indeed."

"Well, off you go, to that side, then," the being gestured to its left.

"Yes, yes I should know the drill by now."

The being nodded as the light drifted off. "Enjoy…" And then it was tending to the next ball of light that had taken up occupancy at the front of what appeared to be a never-ending line.

The light drifted in the direction the being had intimated, the pace leisurely at first. The further it got from the podium, however, the faster it seemed it was being sucked into some unseeable, unidentifiable vortex. A loud rushing sound, akin to a freight train, grew as the light went even further, and then suddenly, the light was gone, having disappeared from sight in the place wherever it had been.

::

It was dark, warm, and safe for what seemed like a very long time. Then, quite suddenly, everything changed, and within a few minutes' time there was a sensation of being compressed through a tiny tube. And then there was light – bright, harsh, blinding. And it was cold. Noisy. Unpleasant. _This part is never enjoyable_…was the last remaining thought before an ear-splitting wail pierced the night air.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Severus Snape was born on a night that would reflect both his personality and his life in general: stark, cold, empty. Reinforced by his family and home life, love was largely absent in his most formative years. Instead, he learned different meanings behind the contact he received, both physically and emotionally – slaps, glares, insults; and those were the good days.

No, it was no wonder that from a very early age, Severus decided he did not want marriage. Or a family. In fact, it was with the utmost loathing and disdain that he accepted the position teaching Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the budding age of twenty-two. Coupled with his stony upbringing, half a decade of service to the Dark Lord and copious time spent among Death Eaters had done little to endear him to children. But such was his life. If he understood nothing (and there was little the brilliant man did not understand) it was that life is full of choices, and those choices have consequences. He had long since learned not to shrink from the fall out when he wrote a proverbial check he later realized he could not particularly afford to have cashed. And the death of Lily Evans Potter was a check for an unusually large sum.

And so he sat, just more than a decade after that acceptance of the post, in his office. Head in his hands, to anyone walking in it might appear he had dozed off. But he was not, in fact, sleeping. Rather, he was doing his damndest to channel the feelings of fear, loathing, and disgust into more productive outlets. The loathing and disgust directed at himself, for putting himself in this position eleven years ago; but the fear stemmed from the unknown about to enter his world the next day. The evening was August 31st, 1991. Tomorrow, the Hogwarts Express would be bringing the newest batch of young wizarding society to the school. By the time the moon rose, he would be – if not face to face, then at least in very close proximity to – forced into his nightmares. The son of Lily Evans and James Potter would be at Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore had assured him the young man would be attending.

Fear was not usually something that paralyzed Severus Snape. His history mandated that he learn how to control fear – manipulate it into something useful. But as he thought about the idea of seeing the boy, Harry, it was all he could do not to choke on the sides of his throat that seemed to be closing of their own volition. He would master the fear. Turn it into something manageable. Another emotion over which he easily wielded control: hate.

::

The evening of September 1st saw Professor Snape sitting tensely at the head table, awaiting the arrival of the first years. He had planned his course. He would stick to it. Nothing would shake him from his mastery of the fear. He would hate Harry Potter. He had rationalized it to himself to the point where he almost believed the hate to be real. So he sat. And he waited. When the doors opened, he had no trouble spotting the youngster traipsing along with the other scrawny youths, and Severus was relieved that Harry Potter shared no discernable similarities with Lily Evans, except the eyes. Instead, the boy looked remarkably like his father, which made Severus' plan to hate the child even more firm. It was midway through dinner when Harry began surveying the head table and inadvertently locked eyes with Severus. The most remarkable thing happened in that moment: an incredible sense of peace settled over the man – something he had never, ever felt before. For the briefest of seconds, he felt an overwhelming surge of emotion – like he was coming home for the first time – or perhaps the last. Then the boy clapped his hand to his forehead and the spell was broken. Severus was bordering on livid. How dare the child make him feel like that – like, like how Lily used to make him feel when she looked at him. How dare that child remind him of what he would never have, because of his mistakes. His hate toward Harry was justified as Severus relived in agony the moment he knew he would never again hold, touch, or even see the beautiful witch who he considered to be his soul mate.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry was not good at controlling his emotions. Forget about control – Harry wasn't even any good at deciphering his emotions. He had seen once, on the telly, a shot of a giant rubber band ball – all wrapped around each other – jumbled. He felt like that most of the time. That his emotions were wrapped around each other and he couldn't figure any of them out. The most he recognized were the physical signs of his emotions – the pounding heart, the tear-pricked eyes, the urge to yell – or sometimes even hit something. Or someone. More often than not, Professor Snape. Few people or situations could evoke the rubber band mess like that man. Sometimes Harry got so overwhelmed he couldn't even see straight. Snape treated him so unfairly. But Harry was used to it: the Durselys, Snape, Umbridge, Voldemort. Harry decided he was a magnet for injustice. What he didn't understand was why with Snape, it was like he lived off the emotional high the man gave him. The fear, the anger, everything associated with a Snape encounter, it was like Harry craved it. He knew it was unhealthy, but what could he do?

It was this unhealthy addiction Harry attributed his actions to that evening. As Snape lay dying in the Shrieking Shack, Harry knew he should be cheering the man's death with both hands. Instead, he found himself _Accio_ing the dittany from Hermione's beaded bag and a bezoar from somewhere. He shoved the stone down Snape's throat with one hand and poured the liquid onto the wounds with the other. If Hermione or Ron said anything, he didn't hear them.

"Stay with him," Harry commanded his two friends as he grasped the vial of memories and made his way back up to the castle.

::

Harry sat in an uncomfortable armchair by the hospital bed. He had his arms crossed so he wouldn't fidget as he engaged in a silent staring battle with the bed's occupant. Things had gone from bad to worse and Hermione had had no choice but to Portkey herself, Ron, and the Professor to St. Mungo's, where she insured he would be cared for with the highest level of attendance and security provided before she and Ron returned to the castle. And now Harry sat across from the man. He looked oddly frail and dangerously human in the hospital gown and against the sterile white sheets. So used to seeing the man in black, Harry assumed the cause for his feelings of discomfort. Clearly tired and unwilling to fall asleep with Potter within arm's reach, Severus broke the stalemate.

"Why are you here, Potter?" His voice was tenuous at best, and Harry had to nearly strain to hear him.

"I had to see for myself that you weren't dead." Harry thought that was a plausible substitute for his real answer, which would have been a combination of '_I don't know'_ and '_Because the adrenaline I get from you screaming at me and making me feel terrible is like some ridiculous drug that I've been without for what feels like forever.'_

"Well, I trust I have satiated your doubt. Now, if you don't mind, I believe I am under strict orders from the healers," he said the word with a twist of sarcasm on his lips, "to rest as much as possible. Feel free to leave at any point."

"I have your memories," Harry blurted out after a short pause. "If you want them back."

"What memories?" Severus snapped, trying to sit up as if he could throttle Harry.

"The ones you gave me in…in the Shack. You don't remember?" Harry shifted in his seat, interested in the new development.

"Don't be daft. I remember giving them to you, but seeing as how they are no longer _in my head_, I don't know which ones I gave you. It is possible I do not want them returned." Severus settled back against the pillow, eyeing Harry with a look that would have passed for vitriol, if he hadn't been recovering from a near-fatal wound.

"Well," Harry hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. "Some of them were of you and my mum, others were with Dumbledore…" he trailed off at the sight of Snape's hand raised a few inches off the bed in what appeared to be a signal to halt.

"Enough. I will take them back," he nodded minutely.

Harry reached into his robe pocket to draw out the vial.

"Not now, you idiot boy, can't you see I am in no fit state to have memories dumped back into my head? We'll have to arrange a meeting after I am out of hospital."

"Right, well, erm," Harry shifted in his chair again, unsure of what to do with his hands.

"Go," Snape said with undisguised impatience. "I would like to sleep. Alone."

"Erm, sure," Harry said, rising from the chair and heading for the door. "I'm glad you're…getting better." In the absence of a response, Harry made his way into the hall, but halted when he heard Snape's voice.

"Potter," the soft sound didn't carry. Harry turned in the doorframe, his features covered in shadow from the backlight of the hall. "Why in God's name did you save me?"

Harry's mouth opened, but no sound came out, since there was no answer to speak. Finally, he decided on the truth. "I don't know." And before he could earn any more of the drug he craved, he turned and left the private room.


End file.
